


because without you here i disappear

by carrythesky



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Rogue One, The Force Ships It, and fails spectacularly, in which Baze tries not to have Feelings, smells like teen spiritassassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:57:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10447347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrythesky/pseuds/carrythesky
Summary: Chirrut has always been soft, light, the curve to his edges, the sunlight to his shadow.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Baze x Chirrut + goofy kiss

Baze Malbus is blushing.

 

He feels the burn at the base of his throat, the hollows of his cheeks, and his fists curl reflexively beneath his sparring gloves. He’s trained for moments like these, learned to center himself, harness all emotion, and he closes his eyes as he reaches for that control now -

 

_\- there is no emotion, there is peace, there is no emotion, there is peace -_

 

“I know what you’re doing,” a voice blazes through his mantra, bright and lilting and _entirely_ too cheerful. Baze heaves a sigh and turns to face Chirrut Îmwe.

 

His friend hasn’t moved from his position, leaning casually against the wall of the sparring tunnels, staff tucked in the crook of his elbow, and _kriff_ , the way his lips pinch into a smirk sends a fresh wave of embarrassment burning across Baze’s face.

 

“Not even the Force can help you now, Malbus,” Chirrut says, the smirk blossoming into a full-blown grin. “Just admit that you missed me and we can call it a day.”

 

Baze is certain the monk can sense just how uncomfortable he is, and that he’s thoroughly enjoying every moment of it. In retrospect, he should’ve known something like this would happen. They’ve known each other for nearly two decades, have considered themselves friends for almost as long, and Baze’s pilgrimage to the Sacred Temple - a month-long crusade every Guardian makes in their eighteenth year - marks the longest amount of time they’ve spent apart since joining the order.

 

He’d returned almost a week ago, so when Chirrut had suddenly, _vehemently_ requested to spar this afternoon -

 

(“One condition,” he’d said, mischief sparking behind empty eyes. “If I win, you have to admit that you missed me while you were gone.”

 

Baze had been careful to keep his face neutral. _He can’t possibly know-_

 

“The Force doesn’t lie,” Chirrut said, dropping into an opening stance with a confident twirl of his staff and, _oh_ , Baze thought, _oh no_ -)

 

\- needless to say, Chirrut had won.

 

His friend is looking at him now in that unnerving way he does, like he can see straight through him, down to his bones, his soul, and Baze’s stomach twists. _There is no passion, there is serenity -_

 

“Oh ho _ho_!” Chirrut barks, stepping away from the wall. “What’s this? The great and powerful Baze Malbus would rather turn to the Force than admit this simple thing?”

 

“The Force,” Baze grumbles, “can’t _speak_ , unlike certain other individuals-”

 

Chirrut laughs, sharp and clear, and Baze is momentarily lost in the curve of the monk’s neck as he throws his head back, the bright flash of his teeth. Chirrut has always been soft, light, the curve to his edges, the sunlight to his shadow, and _what is wrong with you_ , Baze thinks, _you’re stronger than this, you are_ -

 

His eyes squeeze shut as he once again casts his mind out, seeking, pleading for some semblance of control. He can feel the Force wavering on the periphery of his consciousness, just out of reach -

 

“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” Chirrut is saying, but Baze burrows deeper, wills his pounding heart to settle. _There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony -_

 

“You asked for it,” Baze hears the monk mumble, and then, to his utter horror -

 

Chirrut begins to make _kissing_ noises.

 

“What the _kriff_ ,” Baze says, “are you doing?” _There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony_ -

 

Chirrut smacks his lips together, loudly. “Admit it,” he sings in between the grotesque sounds. “Admit that you missed me.”

 

_THERE IS NO PASSION, THERE IS SERENITY. THERE IS NO PASSION -_

 

“You did, I know you did.” The grotesque lip smacking continues. “Just say it, Malbus, say the words-”

 

Baze’s eyes snap open and he’s moving, taking long, powerful strides towards Chirrut before he can think, fingers curling around the monk’s sparring robes as he yanks him close, captures his mouth with his own. The Force shimmers in the air between them.

 

Baze pulls away first, struggling to remember how to breathe. “Satisfied?”

 

Chirrut’s smile is sunlight.

 

“Definitely not,” he says, and leans in.


End file.
